


Companion Planting

by Sunsinourhands



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, This is a story about the D-list
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:58:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunsinourhands/pseuds/Sunsinourhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a story about Goku or Vegeta or anyone on the A-list of Earth's face-punchers. Garlic Jr. was a real problem. So was Babidi. After nearly the entirety of Earth's human population got sent on a one-way trip to Murder-Town via Super Buu's Human Extinction Attack, someone got the bright idea that maybe Earth could use some magically-inclined forces to stop this nonsense before it happened again. </p>
<p>Morgan Yaga is one of Fortuneteller Baba's apprentices. According to Baba, she might just be the worst. She is one of three witches-in-training to stand allied against ne'er do wells who might seek to destroy the planet or destroy its inhabitants. Inca, embarrassed by the fact that Namek, and then New Namek's people have been saved by Earth's inhabitants again and again, seeks to gain strength so that his people can stand on their own. There is one more, who later joins the ranks of Earth's D-list against evil. Maybe, though, the influences of each amongst the others will help them all grow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Did You Shoot Him?

**Author's Note:**

> Inca's name comes from Gold Mystery Snails--common in aquariums. Get ready for him to misgender others.

Dende’s Lookout rarely hosted numerous visitors day to day. The isolation made it perfect for, aside from a safe base-of-operations, somewhat of an inter-galactic embassy for any of Earth’s visitors safely tucked away from the general public. In that quiet seclusion, the sun and moon chased each other across the day and night sky and Inca studied. Dende was a healer, and thus wasn’t much of a combat teacher. But, aside from Piccolo, he was the most knowledgeable Namek regarding Earth. So as long as Inca waited for Piccolo’s decision, Inca studied under the younger Dende.

“A lot of people might show up today,” Dende commented one day, while Inca reviewed Earth’s most common alphabet.

“Is something happening?” Inca asked. It did seem like there were rarely gatherings on the Lookout unless there was danger on the surface. And as much as the older Namek wished were otherwise, his senses weren’t as sharp as Dende’s. The radius his senses could reach was also lacking in comparison. Just another motivator for off-planet training, Inca noted. Even Nail—who had been born a Warrior-Type, paled in comparison to Piccolo in all accounts. And, just as astonishing, Dende had also grown by unfathomable leaps and bounds after returning to the Earth as its guardian. So there was only one choice.

Go to Earth. Become strong.

Dende said that none of the others who asked for Piccolo’s training went so far as to go to Earth for the sake of their desires. So the odds were good that, eventually, Piccolo would give in.

“Ah, yes. I think I told you about Baba training apprentices, didn’t I?” Dende looked out one of the windows overlooking the sky.

“Yes,” Inca paused, searching his memory before continuing, “You mentioned that as a theoretical counter against enemies such as the warlock who created ‘Buu.’”

“That’s it. All of them have a test today. First, they must be able to endure the flight up here. Second, they must pass a test of character. Plainly speaking, if I sense evil within them, they will not be allowed to find the Lookout and will fail,” Dende replied.

A good addition. No point in taking any chances.

“Are they strong?” Inca had wondered about training with others in addition to Piccolo. Maybe some of Baba’s apprentices would be worth it.

Dende paused, and then laughed.

“Not at all! They aren’t being trained to be warriors. Their role would be closer to mine, as support and compliments to the warriors. The idea is to cover weaknesses that warriors naturally have,” Dende said.

Something close to a hyper-specialized Dragon Clan member, then. Worth remembering, but not related to his goal. If anything, Inca was motivated by a sense of helplessness he saw on New Namek. First Freiza, and then every other threat the Namekians had to look to Earth’s warriors to address—there was no way to surpass even Nail on New Namek alone. That was the only way to end Inca’s sense of absent agency. If that could take the edge off the itch in his fingers and background restlessness, it would be enough.

“Ah. They’re on their way. Looks like Piccolo is hanging behind quite a way to see who passes,” Dende commented.

“About time,” An unfamiliar voice snapped. Inca turned his attention to the doorway—where an old human woman the size of a toddler floated in on a crystal orb. Her hair was pale pink, and black robes covered most of her body. A matching black, pointed hat sat atop her head with a bright red ribbon around it.

“Good afternoon, Baba,” Dende said. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Doesn’t matter. Those three know better than to keep their teacher waiting,” Baba waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “I’ll give them hell for this later,” she added, cackling.

“Now, what should I make them do?” Baba asked herself, rubbing her hands together and dissolving once more into laughter.

An uneasy smile pulled at Dende’s mouth—unsure if he should interfere or if that would only make things worse for Baba’s students. The young Namekian knew very little about Baba or her trio of apprentices. But, Baba smiled the way he imaged a cat would smile as it toyed with a crippled rodent. That, and Baba’s laugh managed to send chills down Dende’s spine--despite the fact that he had a natural near-immunity to the cold.

Dende followed the cackling Baba as she floated out of the building and into the tiled courtyard. Inca paused, giving the alphabet one more look before sighing, putting the book down on a table, and following Baba’s raucous laughter.

All three of Baba’s students passed, sliding off broomsticks and stepping onto the Lookout’s white tile a few minutes after each other. Or at least what was passing for ‘students’ these days did. Inca glanced over the three humans before turning to Dende.

“They’re tiny,” he said, “Are they children?” Even the tallest was smaller than Dende.

“They’re actually pretty average. Vegeta’s wife is a little taller, but Goku’s wife is about the same,” Dende said. These days Dende had a few inches on all three of Baba’s pupils, if the black, pointed hats didn’t count as their height. Inca paused. Even the tallest one would barely reach the middle of his chest. He could expect Dende to be small, the younger Namek was only half-grown. But, thinking of a fully-grown adult as that size would take some mental grappling.

In comparison to even Dende, all three of them were so scrawny it would have been embarrassing for them on New Namek.

All three of the women filed into a loose line, each with their broomstick held in a relaxed posture. Each wore clothing in all black, and a large-brimmed black, pointed hat to match their teacher’s.

“Anyway!” Baba’s shrill voice cut through the Nameks’ conversation.

“These are my pupils: Aradia--” Baba floated past the tallest, and leggiest, of the three--a young woman wearing denim cut-offs and hooded sweatshirt. Her long, curly brown hair was braided and wrapped around her head. “--takes too damn long to get anything done--Although she looks most like me when I was her age. I was quite a looker, I’ll have you know--and spends too much time screwing around before making decisions. She also always gets my deadlines mixed up, and panics the other two by thinking all the deadlines are a week early at least--”

Baba moved past Aradia to the second, a dark-haired woman wearing a knee-length robe, leggings, and hiking boots with large, thick glasses, “--Morgan thinks she’s funny, even though she has a terrible sense of humor. She’s also a naturally suspicious glasses-wearing girl who’s probably legally blind. I think she’s the worst of the three by far--”

Baba floated towards the last apprentice, a woman with bandages covering her eyes and long, platinum blond hair. She wore leggings, and a loose flowing shirt, “--Or maybe Ceredwen is the worst, I’m not sure. She’s the slowest of the three on her broom, and so thick-headed she’s practically off the atomic scale. Never knows when to call it quits, this one. Anyway, here are my pitiful, misfit excuses for apprentices,” Baba finished, and waited for a response.

Aradia coughed. The three apprentice witches looked like they were contemplating their daily schedules, or other mundane tasks. Apparently they were so used to Fortuneteller Baba’s disdain that it didn’t even register anymore. Ceredwen inspected her black nail polish for cracks, uninhibited by the thick white banadages over her eyes. When neither of the three Namekians offered any comment, Baba decided to take further action. Were her apprentices not good enough for comment? Well, they were the _worst_. So that figured.

“And where are you headed after this, Green Bean?” Baba snapped her attention to Piccolo--who otherwise managed to make a silent entrance onto the Lookout.

“Thunder Canyon,” Piccolo paused before answering, as if thinking better of answering any question Baba might pose.

“Good enough. Morgan, there’s a burial mound in there somewhere. Get to tomb of the Stillborn King and fetch me the scrolls within. You’ve got one foot in the grave, anyway. So that’s perfect for you. I’m betting that even being a natural sneak like you can’t get past Green Bean here before you report in. That’ll take you down a notch or two. So get it done or die trying,” Baba said, barely registering the ‘Roger’ in response from Morgan.

“Aradia, you can just roam the Southern Wastes until you find my colleague--Black Agnes. She owes me money--”

“Got it,”

“And Ceredwen? I need a new crystal ball. Find me something that’ll let me look in the Dead Zone without it peeping back at me. Figure it out. Deadline is four months, ladies. Traditionally we’d meet under the full moon, but _somebody_ blew it up!” Baba sent a withering gaze Piccolo’s direction before fishing around in the pockets of her dress.

“And before I forget, Bulma asked me to give these to you three,” the old witch tossed one Capsule Corp No. 1 capsule to each young woman.

“Given the expense of one of these items, I assume you all have been running shopping errands for Ms. Briefs in return for bribes,” Baba’s stare probably could have caused a plant to catch fire from sheer force of anxiety.

Ceredwen coughed, but otherwise the three young women seemed un-phased by a look that would have made a grown man sweat. Morgan removed her glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief from her dress pocket before replacing them on her face. A smirk creased onto Baba’s face.

“Good. I would have done the same at your age. Better get a taste for the finer things in life while you’re young, so you’ll grow up properly,” Baba cackled.

By that point, Inca all but stopped listening to what Baba was talking about. What interested the Namekian far more was Piccolo’s choice to reveal his location. Was it just casual conversation, or was that planned out? Even if Piccolo didn’t outright take on Inca as a student, Inca still knew where he would be—at least for a short period of time. As Baba’s laughter continued in the background, Inca straightened out his posture.

“Excuse me, Piccolo. My name is Inca and I was wondering if I could--” Inca began, Piccolo slid his sharp gaze over to the younger Namek while waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Forget the formalities. I’m leaving, and you can follow if you think you can keep up. If you decide to give up, Dende can arrange for you to go home,” Piccolo said before turning back around to leave.

  

* * *

 

 

Thunder Canyon was a government-declared no-go zone and disaster area. Unpredictable weather patterns, ancient traps gone wrong, and the lifeless terrain made it harsh and unforgiving without extreme temperatures. Bandits and other criminals tended to give it a wide-berth for greener, and safer, pastures. Rumor had it that warlocks and scientists with less than ethical standards used it as a dumping ground for projects they no longer found interesting or found too dangerous to keep.

Inca expected to get thoroughly trounced in his first spar against Piccolo. But, he hadn’t expected the gap between them to seem so unreachable and infinite from the first blow. After that, the only break between physical training was meditation. Late into the night, after the Earth’s single sun crawled beneath the horizon and the stars winked into view, Piccolo only broke his meditation once.

The movement was so quick, Inca didn’t catch it until Piccolo already sent a ki blast ripping through the air towards a target Inca hadn’t even sensed. Something swerved out of the sky, then adjusted course. Inca saw two winks of green light from Piccolo’s target, one right after the other. But, no ki blast came in response. Shortly after, Inca thought he heard a voice on the wind. It was faint, but sounded like ‘hoh-lee shit.’ Maybe he was imagining it. All of the howling wind between tall rock outcroppings made it hard to tell.

Piccolo folded his arms, a lop-sided grin barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What was that?” Inca asked.

“Baba’s apprentice, the one that got assigned nearby,” Piccolo answered.

“Why did you shoot at him?” A bead of sweat rolled down Inca’s face. That blast would have been enough to kill him, for sure. Never mind Baba’s scrawny apprentices with no ki to speak of.

“Part of their training. They get a reward if they can either out-pace us in the sky or get past us without our notice. The two green flashes were the sign to show ‘all clear,’ meaning there was no injury. So at least that one is quick on the uptake. And it’s ‘her.’ Baba’s apprentices are all women.”

A short pause.

“Dende said that as well a one point. But, I don’t understand. I thought the word was ‘human.’”

“No. Humans are divided up into two types: the males and the females or men and women. The women are typically smaller and weaker than the men, and they are the only ones who can birth offspring.”

“That seems highly inefficient.”

“Last I checked you weren’t here to discuss humans. Either focus, or go back to Dende to chat human reproduction,” Piccolo snapped.

Inca closed his mouth, and returned to meditation posture. A slight purple twinge colored his cheeks and tips of his ears from being scolded. The Namekian mentally chided himself for losing concentration so soon and asking unnecessary questions. Time to re-center.

Several days passed on Earth. Each time the planet’s single sun disappeared under the horizon, Inca found himself wishing for more than one sun. The fatigue from extensive training would not have caught up to him so quickly if there were more daylight hours for him to generate energy. Night and darkness were new. Sleeping for more than a few hours at a time was new. Every day he seemed to require more and more sleep, but the fatigue crept. It was stronger by a single-step every day. It was worse in the middle of the night, when the canyon grew cold and dark.

Unfamiliar stars winked into vision when the cloud cover cleared. Inca peered out at the landscape, shadows growing even longer and darker with the light. Even though the erratic changes in Thunder Canyon’s weather patterns were sinking into just a background for the day, anxiety grew, too. In the last few days, the muscle aches began growing stronger. Just how bad was it going to get?

Was this a test of his resolve? Did Piccolo want to see how long Inca would last before he had to ask for a break? If that was the case, Inca wondered if he was good enough for this training intensity. The mind was willing, still, but the body—

The Namekian’s train of thought immediately derailed as a plume of bright smoke twisted upwards from some distance away. Then, the echoes of an explosion drifted to Inca’s ears.


	2. She was an Outsider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, yes Inca is misgendering Morgan. Pronouns are weird for Inca. Namekians don't have separate genders. Shit's about to get real confusing for that green-bean if we go into gender identity.

Eyeing the rising smoke, Inca felt his feet itch. What could that be? He couldn’t sense any ki, or killing intent. So it wasn’t an enemy.

One of the strange monsters that Piccolo said lived in the canyon? Supposidly they were very dangerous.

Maybe.

And, maybe, Inca would feel better after finding a distraction or an outlet for his curiosity about planet Earth. After all, Piccolo had business elsewhere that night, and had left Inca to his own devices come sunset. The older Namekian hadn’t said anything regarding whether or not Inca was forbidden to explore the canyon. Come to think of it, Piccolo really only said that he would be back a little after sunrise.

As long as he got enough sleep, it should be fine to investigate, Inca reasoned. Then he took off, cutting through the air with confidence. Inca knew a little of the area, now, and didn’t have the same hesitation when moving about. When the smoke was only a mile away, Inca made out a small series of connected pale domes on another plateau. The largest was marked with the Earth number ‘1’ at the Capsule Corp logo he remembered from his first stay on the planet.

The now visibly glowing smoke poured out of the front door of the dwelling. A few steps away from the door, the small figure of one of Baba’s apprentices leaned against a dome wall and waved the wide brim of their dark hat in a futile attempt to disperse the smoke further. Inca could also hear her coughing and muttering to herself.

“God-damnit, what went wrong?” She coughed into her sleeve.

Not a beast or monster after all. Inca had not thought about where Baba’s apprentice might have been. After all, Piccolo had not fired any ki shots into the sky lately. Without any interruption, Inca had almost forgotten about the scrawny human. There was something incongruent about a creature like that making camp in the same area Piccolo would pick to train.

Inca touched down a few meters from the dwelling, now unsure what to do.

“Did something happen?” Inca asked.

“Yeah. I messed up. Now my timeline is going to get set back at least a day so I can get everything cleaned up. Damn, I really should have just moved the cauldron outside…that would keep the mess to a minimum even if the weather sucks,” Morgan sighed, reaching towards her thigh as she turned to face the front door.

There was a black leather holster there, held up by two belts hanging from the waist. And inside was a decorated length of wood—about the size of the small apprentice’s forearm. A tool or weapon of some kind? Morgan pulled it from the holster and held it with her right hand.

The scrawny human said something in a language Inca couldn’t understand, making small movements with the wooden wand. Then a great gust of wind rushed into the dwelling, then out again. The wind forced open all the windows, evacuating the remaining smoke in a few seconds. That incant made Inca shiver, even though the mild temperature differences on Earth didn’t bother him. It was almost like he heard it twice—once from Morgan’s mouth and once as it rippled through the air and ground under his feet.

“What a pain…back to the beginning,” Morgan said, voice low with irritation as she replaced the large, pointy hat back on her head, “Sorry if I caused any problems or anything. I can’t imagine Piccolo would send you over just to chat. Do you need something?”

“Ah, no. Sensei is away until dawn. I saw the smoke,” Inca said.

Morgan made a small noise and nodded.

“Are you holding up well? He has a reputation for being quite strict. Not to be rude, but you also seem a little tired,” Morgan replaced the wooden wand in its holster.

“I’m resolved to do whatever it takes,” Inca replied. Concern did make its way into his mind. Was it easy to tell that he was fatigued? If this one saw it, then Piccolo definitely did.

“Have you changed your diet at all? Stupid question, but sometimes people overlook the obvious,” Morgan brushed some dust off of her black clothing.

“My people do not need to eat. We only need to drink water,” Inca said.

“I know I’ve seen Piccolo eat. I wouldn't say meals are a part of his daily routine. But, he still does it from time to time. Soups mostly. It’s probably because of how much energy he expends, if that’s not a normal thing,” Morgan said.

Inca paused. That was something hadn’t considered: food. Did Piccolo really eat? Morgan didn’t sound like she was lying. Even if Inca didn’t have the mental powers even of the weakest Dragon Clan member, he could tell the human was being honest. Piccolo didn’t have to sleep as much as Inca—he was always awake and doing something it seemed. Maybe that was it. He had a secondary source of energy to compensate for the single sun. What a strange thought, though. Eating.

“If you want to give the ‘food’ thing a try, I do have a broth. It’s liquid, and about as similar to water as you can get,” she said, cocking her head to one side.

A subtle purple flush colored Inca’s cheeks. Maybe his thought process was too transparent in his body image? How discomforting. On the other hand, maybe that was what would turn this training experience around. No. He’d come across the universe for this opportunity. He wasn’t going to ruin it just because the idea of eating was strange. If this was what it took, he’d be happy to do it.

“I’ll try it,” Inca said.

“Alright,” Morgan said, and turned to the doorway before walking in, “Watch your head on the way in.”

Inca had to bend over just to enter the strange dwelling. The inside was crowded with tapestries on the walls and rugs on the floor. Bookshelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling, crammed full of books and other documents so much that Inca thought he could hear them groaning against the weight. One section of the first room was filled with cabinets, all full to capacity with labeled bottles and various Earth minerals. It smelled like incense. A smoky odor remained, as well.

The Namekian followed Baba’s scrawny, half-grown apprentice into a second room. This one was filled with several types of metal devices, including a hot surface with a door on one side. On top, there was a metal pot with a cover. On another side of the room, there was a wooden table covered with pale green cloth and two wooden chairs.

“Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll get you a glass of water as well,” Morgan said, reaching into a cabinet on the wall.

The chair was a little small, Inca noted. He tested his weight, and did find that the wooden chair wouldn’t break under it. Good enough. Once seated, Inca looked about the room. He couldn’t understand the purpose of most of what he saw. There was a large, metal storage unit of some kind that made a faint, humming buzz. Elsewhere, a metal basin set into a flat surface with windows facing outwards from the wall. The only thing he could really understand was the cups cabinet. He counted a half-dozen ceramic cups inside, as well as the same amount of flat discs and bowls. Ah.

The Namekian watched as Morgan pulled a bowl and cup from the cabinet. She also opened the large metal storage unit, and pulled a pitcher of water from it. Inside, there were all sorts of plant matter and some other items that looked completely strange to Inca. Morgan also used a ladle to pour some of the liquid from the pot into the bowl.

Once that was done, Morgan placed both the bowl of broth and cup filled with water onto the table in front of Inca. The ‘broth’ had a rich brown color, and smelled. Inca wasn’t sure if it was a pleasant or unpleasant odor. The Namekian mental prepared himself and gave his best attempt to banish his concern over the ‘food’. If Piccolo could do it, then at the very least Inca could try.

“If you don’t like it, don’t worry about offending me,” Morgan said, then moved towards the basin to wash other ceramic dishes.

Inca gripped the side of the bowl and brought it up to his face. An experimental sniff yielded no further indicators if he’d be able to stomach it or not. He had no experience with this sort of thing—smell related to food. Damn. Carefully, he brought the rim of the bowl to his lips and tipped a small mouthful of broth into his mouth.

It was warm. And it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, the savory taste was entirely foreign but…unexpectedly enjoyable. Inca took a few more sips of the broth before deciding that it was somehow satisfying. Some of his anxiety had vanished as well. There was something comforting about the broth, too. But, he couldn’t place what. In a way, it was almost like the substance had a calming effect—like a kind of ki of its own. Weird. The Namekian took a long pull of water from the cup. If it was this, he could probably handle ‘food’.

“What is this made of?” Inca found himself curious about halfway through the bowl.

“It’s got a water base and vegetables. Then I just boil some mushrooms and bones in it for an afternoon. This has some medicinal herbs as well. You can get by with just a carrot, onion, and celery stalk, though. So it’s pretty much everything: lipids, amino acids, vitamins, and minerals in an easy-to-digest form,” Morgan replied, drying the last of the dirty dishes and placing it in the cabinet.

Watching the apprentice go about domestic chores made Inca remember his home. They weren’t the same chores. The atmosphere was still similar, Inca thought. During his training, he and Piccolo slept outside. There was no domesticity to speak of. Maybe that was strange on Earth as well, then.

Still, the Namekian found himself once again affirming his decision to come to Earth and train. This was the sort of thing he was hoping to help preserve among his own people: peace, domestic tranquility. Maybe now that he tried the ‘food’ there would be some more success with the training as well. He was still tired. But, he felt deeply contented somehow. The fatigue had lifted, if only by a margin. A good sign.

“You seem frustrated,” Morgan commented.

Inca made a small noise, not sure what to say in response. Was he that obvious?

“Pardon me if I seem out of line. I haven’t worked with him much—but just powering through problems never works with Piccolo. In that way, he’s a lot like Baba. I think they both want their students to work things out on their own. Out of everyone in his group, he definitely uses his head the most,” Morgan said, drying her hands off.

“Do you know sensei well?” Inca asked.

Morgan paused, as if she were staring through the wall or thinking.

“I’m not entirely certain. I heard a lot about him from Baba—my teacher. Sometimes I run errands for Mrs. Briefs or Mrs. Son, and they both speak a lot about him as well. I don’t think we have interacted before, though. Just judging by who spends the most time yelling and who listens, I would suppose he thinks the most. And despite the way he speaks, it seems like he has the best understanding of his students compared to others. Then again, I’m an outsider. I could be wrong,” Morgan finally said.

More like Morgan was a child—Inca found himself thinking. No matter how many times Dende or Piccolo said that the scrawny human was an adult, it didn’t seem right, somehow. Humans adults were larger.

After mostly interacting with Earth’s warriors, Inca’s perception was skewed. It felt like he was getting told-off by a kid, even if that was not the case. So the Namekian tried to bury those ideas. He didn’t need to assign too much weight to Morgan’s words. After all, she _was_ an outsider. She knew that. She even said it. Inca thanked Baba’s half-grown apprentice for her hospitality, and left for a round of meditation before Piccolo returned.

The strange thing was, Inca thought the sleep he had that night was the most restful by far. Most, if not all, of his built-up fatigue evaporated with the pre-dawn grey sky. His feet were quicker than before, too.

More than once, Piccolo scolded Inca for being distracted—kicking the younger Namekian’s feet out from under him. Inca could only put his stray thoughts out of his mind when he looked out towards the little dwelling he had visited the previous night.

Even if Morgan was a half-grown kid, it seemed like he had some of that honest, clear sight that observant children had. It made him feel smaller somehow, the fact that he had immediately dismissed what the human said the previous night.

In the end, Piccolo even said a few words close to praise to Inca that day for his progress. Even if Inca couldn’t see his own growth, Piccolo had monitored it. The older Namekian said, smirking, that at least Inca was at least resourceful enough to take every advantage he could get. Then Piccolo inclined his head towards the direction of Morgan’s dwelling. But, how had he known? Ah. Because, Inca smelled a little like green onions and garlic. Nothing much grew in Thunder Canyon, so what other explanations were there?

“At least you aren’t wasting my time. If you can’t adapt, you’ll never make it,” Piccolo finally said.

Earth, Inca decided, was full of humbling people. He was very lucky to have the opportunity to learn so much.


	3. The Kind of Person who Calls a Witch a 'Shitty Brat'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing.

A month passed. Tornados and electric storms moved back and forth across Thunder Canyon, leaving destruction in their wake. Even though it was strange, Inca found that a regular eating schedule made his fatigue a worry of the past. For a time, Inca wondered if it was inappropriate for him to eat Morgan’s food without Piccolo’s permission. But, one evening Piccolo sent Inca on an errand to invite Morgan the Namekians’ afternoon training at her earliest convenience. So, as it turned out, Piccolo didn’t care. Piccolo’s expression was stony as ever, too. But, the witch did not make an appearance for nearly a week.

Morgan arrived on the plateau Inca and Piccolo habitually used as a base of sorts shortly after high noon one day after a morning storm. She swung off her broom and her boots clicked on the rock after she dismounted, nearly causing Inca to jump when she spoke.

“I hope I’m not too tardy. I’ve spent the last few days underground, and ended up losing track of time,” she said.

Piccolo ignored the pleasantries, instead simply calling an end to that sparring practice and folding his arms.

“Inca is making progress on his endurance and strength. Now it’s time for reflexes and speed,” Piccolo said.

“I suppose it can’t be helped. I’m free afternoons for a while, but no early mornings. I have to stay up late in the tomb,” Morgan said.

Inca turned to Morgan just in time to watch her remove her glasses from her face. The glasses glowed for a few moments before re-forming into goggles. After pulling on the goggles, Morgan once-again alighted onto the broom and floated a few feet off the ground.

“This exercise is simple. Simply try to catch the witch,” Piccolo said.

Inca paused.

The wind picked up, but not from the canyon. A gust whipped around Morgan as she floated higher into the air. The younger Namekian turned once more to Piccolo, hoping for some clarification. But, in that moment, Morgan adjusted her goggles and grinned. Then she was off like a lightning strike, the air almost crackling behind her.

“You’d better hurry, or you’ll never catch up,” Piccolo said with his own lop-sided smirk.

Inca made a small noise, but shot into the sky right after his target. Piccolo watched from the ground as the two fliers grew distant in the sky. The older Namekian shook his head, already seeing where Inca was going to go wrong on this exercise.

Morgan didn’t fly like a warrior. She didn’t fly like a Namekian at all, for that matter. Inca was used to changing his speed through the air to cut through wind resistance or sudden changes in the air. But, something was wrong. Inca should have been _faster_ than the witch. But, every time there was a wind disturbance, the gap between them only widened. It kept happening, even though Morgan seemed to use extraneous movements and spiraled around the air.

Twice, Morgan zipped towards the ground like she had a death wish—only to burst into the air quicker than she raced towards the ground. While Inca could follow Morgan through hairpin turns around stone spires and cliffs, it seemed like he could only follow. What made it worse was that Morgan seemed to keep within a certain radius of the plateau. Thus, Piccolo could watch and observe the entire process.

On the plateau, Piccolo’s attention wasn’t completely on Inca’s task. During the time Morgan lead her merry chase, a small aircraft landed on the same plateau. The door slid open, and a dark haired woman hopped onto the stone.

“Oh, so this is where you went to, Piccolo,” Chichi said, making her way towards the Namekian.

“Chichi,” Piccolo said. It was the closest he would get to a polite greeting.

“Is that your new student? I thought you had vowed you were never teaching again,” Chichi asked.

Piccolo almost snarled. Maybe no one else could hear the teasing in her voice, but Piccolo could.

“Some way or another,” he replied.

Chichi grinned, nearly ear-to-ear.

“What brings you all the way out here?” Piccolo asked, eyes still on the airborne chase.

“Well, you know Gohan just published a paper in a really elite scientific journal! We’re having a party to celebrate, and naturally you’re invited. I wanted to make sure you got the invitation. You should bring your new student with you! You two can car-pool with Morgan!” Chichi said, almost bouncing.

So. Gohan finally did it? Piccolo wasn’t sure about the fine details, but he knew Gohan had been working hard on a research project for the better part of two years. It was complete, then? Academia did seem to suit Gohan. Piccolo was proud. This sort of accomplishment also made his chest swell, the same as when Gohan grew stronger. Maybe more. Maybe it was because this was something Gohan picked and saw through to the end completely on his own.

“Tell me the date and time. I’ll show up. I can’t say about Inca or Morgan, though. That’s their choice,” Piccolo said.

“I’m sure Morgan will come if I ask her. I’m hoping that Pan will take a liking to her,” Chichi said, brushing some dust off of her clothing.

“Do you think you could call those two over? I’d like to get back home in time to fix supper for Goten,” Chichi asked.

Piccolo made a face, still staring into the sky.

“I’m not pleased about cutting the exercise short. But, perhaps Inca could use the opportunity to re-think his strategy,” Piccolo struggled to say.

“Oh, is he not doing well?” Chichi asked.

Piccolo slapped one of his hands against his forehead.

“He isn’t taking any time to think. He’s just… _mindlessly_ chasing after her. It’s driving me crazy. Gohan would have thought of a different approach by now,” Piccolo grumbled.

“Well, not everyone can be as bright as Gohan,” Chichi sighed. She wasn’t sure if it was a happy sigh or not. Piccolo had praised Gohan’s intelligence more that year than Goku had in…a very long time. Sure Goku was proud of Gohan—but not particularly for the reasons Gohan wanted his father to be proud of him. At least Gohan had Piccolo.

Piccolo shot a ki attack at the space between Morgan and Inca while they flew. Both paused. At least it was easy to get their attention, Piccolo thought. He waved back towards the plateau. Morgan seemed to catch on first, taking a relaxed speed back to the ground. Inca followed, taking a moment to catch his breath once he landed. Piccolo noted that the younger Namekian was sweating.

“Oh, what brings you here, ma’am?” Morgan said, and adjusted her goggles as she noticed Chichi.

“We’re having a party to celebrate the publication of Gohan’s paper! I’d love it if you could come, Morgan. Of course, you are invited, too,” Chichi chirped towards Inca.

“I’m not very well acquainted with Gohan. Wouldn’t it be strange if I attended? I do not wish to intrude,” Morgan replied.

“No, no, no! The more the merrier! Plus, you’ll know a bunch of the people who are coming, anyway. It’s going to be at the Capsule Corp. building. I know Dende already said he’s coming. Plus, I want to introduce you to my granddaughter!”

“Ah. Then, if you don’t mind—” Morgan began.

Chichi cut her off with another exuberant outburst, and then began detailing the time and date of the party. It seemed Chichi was hell-bent on having everyone attend, as she gave Inca a similarly aggressive approach. In the end, the younger Namekian yielded under the force of Chichi’s personality.

With three more guests secured, Chichi stuck around for a few more minutes. She scolded Piccolo for not visiting often enough. She mentioned how Piccolo was practically a member of the family, and how it was such a shame that he did not make an appearance more often. Piccolo continued to struggle from scowling, small beads of sweat appearing on his face as he withstood Chichi’s well-intentioned reprimands. Inca found himself somehow glad he wasn't the fast-talking Earthling’s center of attention.

When Morgan attempted to use Chichi’s focus on Piccolo to fall into the background, Chichi turned her attention to Baba’s small apprentice in a flash. Why didn’t _Morgan_ ever visit? Sure she wasn’t related to the family by _blood_ , but Chichi would appreciate chatting with another woman from time to time. Plus, if Goten needed a tutor, he already _knew_ Morgan. So that would just be _wonderful_. It would be such a relief if there could be another calm influence around the house. Plus, Morgan was well educated, so she’d be a great influence on Goten. Also, was she eating enough?

Inca noted that Morgan was quite skilled at schooling her face into a pleasant, if neutral expression. She didn’t give any indication of distress or feeling overwhelmed, even though Piccolo had. Under the tidal wave that was Chichi, Morgan remained cool and polite. Maybe Morgan was better at handling people than his sensei was, Inca thought. Or, at least, certain kinds of people.

In the end Chichi procured a box of home-made steamed meatbuns out of what seemed thin air, and pressed it into Morgan’s hands. She only boarded the aircraft to leave once that was done. Piccolo watched the small plane leave, shaking his head once it had turned around.

“She did it again,” Piccolo said.

“…sure did,” Morgan said after a pause long enough to guarentee she was up to something suspicious.

When Piccolo turned around, Morgan had already opened the box of meat-buns and was halfway through eating one. He could see a little steam rising from the box. Still hot. It was just like Chichi to do something like this. Piccolo could all too easily imagine Chichi chiding the pilot to go faster, otherwise the meal would arrive cold.

“You move quickly,” Piccolo said.

“I forgot that I was hungry,” Morgan replied.

Piccolo slapped his forehead with one of his hands. Was he ever going to get a break from this nonsense?

“You still have that bad habit? If Chichi finds out you’ve been forgetting meals again, you’re _really_ going to get it,” the older Namekian said.

“Hmmm. Give me a little bit to eat and digest, and then we can start again. I have several more hours free,” Morgan said, then taking another bite.

“What, are you going to take a nap, too? Your type is a huge pain,” Piccolo said.

“That’s what Baba says, too,” Morgan said.

The young woman pulled her wand from its holster, then muttered while tracing a circle into the air. A flat black hole opened up. Morgan than shoved her hand inside, retrieving a thermos. The hole closed.

“Ah, and you said ‘your type.’ Does that mean I’ve graduated from ‘shitty brat?’” Morgan asked. She popped the cap off the thermos and replaced her wand in the holster.

Piccolo looked like he might pop a vein in his face from the force of his irritation alone.

“Just hurry up and don’t waste too much time,” the older Namekian finally forced out the closest thing he was going to get to a patient response.

Piccolo ended up trying to meditate off the edge of his annoyance while Morgan took her lunch break. Just like Piccolo had predicted, Morgan did indeed end up flopped over a large, summoned cushion on the top of the plateau after her meal.

Inca wasn’t sure what to think then. But, despite the fact that Mt. Sensei looked like it might erupt at any moment, Piccolo somehow looked like he had enjoyed Morgan’s sarcasm. Could that be right? Despite the older Namekian’s apparent annoyance at Morgan, he never even hinted at a better method to catch the witch. After the break, Inca tried several more times. The afternoon ended. Morgan returned to her own tasks, and Inca had not even once gotten close enough to touch Morgan’s broom.

Instead of scolding Inca, Piccolo just said he should try again the next day.

 

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere…

 

“I can’t believe the nerve of that guy! He refuses to participate in my training, and then uses _my_ training technique with his own student!” King Kai shouted.

“Dende, can you believe this? I'm filing a complaint against this guy!” The Shin-jin shouted to the sky. Although Dende didn’t say anything in response, King Kai did feel the ripple of laughter across the universal psychic connection.

“Aside from that, don’t you think he’s being a little harsh, Dende? Setting up his student against Morgan from the get-go is almost an impossible task.” King Kai sighed. And King Kai thought his own training was strict.

“I think it speaks to his faith in Inca that he’s doing this. Although it’s looking pretty bleak now, it’ll really improve Inca’s self-esteem when he can finally succeed. That, or Piccolo is testing his determination,” Dende’s thoughts rose and fell in King Kai’s consciousness.

“Do you think Piccolo will get mad about Morgan giving his student advice the way she is?” King Kai asked.

“No. That’s another one of Piccolo’s lessons. He’s trying to teach Inca the importance of seeking help and being resourceful from all possibilities. Really, he’s a huge softy, don’t you think?” Dende replied.

“What kind of softy sends a green-horn warrior against a witch, never mind one with Morgan’s level of ESPer powers?” King Kai asked.

“The kind that calls a witch a ‘shitty brat’ in the first place, sir,” Morgan’s mental voice nearly thundered over the psychic channel.

King Kai yelped in surprise. Dende’s mental laughter rose again. The Shin-ji could almost _feel_ Morgan’s half-smile.

“Are you trying to give an old man a heart-attack?!” He shouted.

“Ah. My apologies. I have a question that’s been bothering me for a while,” Morgan said.

“Oh?”

“Why haven’t you just used the wishing balls to return your planet to its original size, sir?” Morgan asked.

A strained silence stretched over the psychic conversation. And then—

“Damn it! Why haven’t I thought of that in all of this time?” King Kai screamed to the heavens.

“I suppose that answers my question. Sorry to interrupt. I’ll return to my task,” Morgan said. A great pressure left the connection.

A strained pause fell over the psychic conversation.

“Is it really alright for someone like her to roam around? She did just barge her way into a private psychic conversation with a Shin-jin and Earth’s guardian, and I didn’t even know she was listening in,” King Kai couldn’t help but wonder.

“I think the limiter seal on her might stop working soon, if she’s gotten to that level,” Dende’s answer was far more sober than the rest of the conversation had been.

“This could be really bad,” King Kai said. He paused.

“It’s a good thing Morgan has the least ambition out of anyone I’ve ever met,” King Kai said.

Dende found himself agreeing.


	4. One-Hundred Percent Death Guarenteed

Somehow, the Capsule Corp building seemed larger than Inca remembered it. Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t thought to stray far from the area where the other displaced Namekians stayed at the time. Either way, the building was almost overwhelming from the outside. Just how tall was that dome in the first place.

Piccolo, Inca, and Morgan did arrive in a small group. Morgan took a small, flat device from a pocket in her black clothes once they arrived. She stared at the screen, and then walked right past the handful of men and women sitting behind desks in the first room. A few nodded at Morgan. Piccolo followed after Morgan without hesitation. Although, Inca noted that Morgan’s pace caused the taller Namekian some trouble. He tried limiting the length of his stride. But, in the end, he still nearly walked past Morgan more than a handful of times. Watching Piccolo attempt to remain behind someone a little over half his size was certainly worth remembering. 

By the time the trio arrived at the party location, almost all of the other guests had arrived. The party was located on a large indoor pavilion. All of the windows on that floor were open, giving something close to the illusion that there was a ceiling and floor but no walls. 

There was a small group of round tables, and a buffet set up in the middle of the area. Someone had hung a banner up from the ceiling. It said ‘Congratulations’ in bright letters. 

Chichi was supervising placement of various food dishes onto the buffet, but stopped and shoved a mountain of what looked like greens and beef into someone else’s hands when she saw Morgan and the Namekians walk off the elevator. 

“You all made it! I’m so glad!” Chichi squealed before eating up the distance between them. 

“Gohan, look who’s finally arrived!” Chichi called towards a knot of people. 

The guest of honor leaned to one side, and then a bright, wide smile broke across his face. Gohan’s face lit up like god-damn Christmas lights contest in the suburbs. Next to him, Videl grinned and folded her arms. The circle of researchers broke apart to make room for the man of the hour to rush over to Piccolo. 

“I didn’t know you were coming. What a great surprise!” Gohan grinned. 

Despite himself, Piccolo grinned. 

“I heard you did a good job,” the tall Namekian said. 

“Gohan, this is Inca. He’s visiting from New Namek to train with Piccolo. And of course you remember Morgan,” Chichi said. 

“Oh! Dende mentioned you! How is everything? Is everyone alright on New Namek?,” Gohan said, shaking a bewildered Inca’s hand. 

“Everyone is...fine,” Inca said.

It had only been a few years, right? So how had Gohan grown so much? He had only been Dende’s size in what seemed a short time ago. Now he was much taller, and looked so much more mature. Gohan also had glasses now, which was a shock. Earthlings grew so quickly. Gohan wasn’t as tall as Inca, or Piccolo, but he might reach that height. 

“That’s great! No more trouble?” Gohan asked. 

“Nothing of any importance,” Inca replied. 

“Well, it’s great to have a visitor from New Namek. Will you let everyone know that we’re thinking of them?” Gohan asked. 

“Yes. Absolutely. Thank you for your hospitality,” Inca replied. 

“Inca is training with Piccolo right now, Gohan. Morgan is also helping out,” Chichi explained. 

“Really? How is that going?” Gohan grinned, nostalgia evident on his face. 

“He has a lot to learn and a long way to go,” Piccolo interrupted, “If he can’t catch Morgan soon, I’ll have to come up with something different.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Gohan said, laughing. 

Videl called Gohan back to another group of people. Gohan thanked the Namekians and Morgan for coming to his party once again before hurrying off. 

Chichi also wandered off, but not without telling Piccolo that he should obviously visit more often. Gohan was so happy to see him, couldn’t he tell? Chichi seemed to turn her sights directly on Morgan when she mentioned that they shouldn’t be in any rush to leave. 

Did Morgan have a reputation for leaving social events early? 

Inca turned his gaze on the small Earthling for a moment. 

“You got embarrassed,” Morgan said it as a half-question while Chichi dragged Piccolo off by the hand to meet some of Gohan’s colleagues. 

“A lot changed,” Inca said. 

Morgan made a small noise, a small grin quirking at the corners of her lips. Aside from that, Inca thought that, as ever, Inca couldn’t tell what the small Earthling was thinking. 

Then, a large man with a giant, puffy mass of dark hair approached from one of the tables. 

“Is that you, Miss Morgan? I didn’t know you were going to be here!” The large man laughed, placing his hands on either side of his waist. 

“Ah. Mr. Satan,” Morgan said, “A pleasure to see you here. This is Inca, a distant relative of Piccolo. Inca, this is Mr. Satan. He is the father of Gohan’s wife.” 

“Great to meetcha! This is great! Listen, I have a few things I’ve been wanting to know about. I was wondering if you could bring some light to them?” Mr. Satan slapped Inca on the shoulder, hiding the sore hand in a pocket afterwards, then leaned down to say his last question to Morgan with a lower voice. 

“I could probably answer a few questions, if they aren’t too complicated,” Morgan replied. 

“Inca, you can watch if you like, but it might bore you. You might prefer hunting down Piccolo and staying with him,” Morgan said. 

“And what is it, exactly, that you will be doing?” Inca asked. 

“Well, Morgan  _ is _ one of Fortuneteller Baba’s apprentices. Her fortunes are spot-on. Never regretted having one read, yet!” Mr. Satan laughed. 

“You’re intending to divine the future?” Inca said it, skepticism evident. 

“Not at all. I tell the present. Then the client can decide what they want to do about their present, and change their trajectory into the future,” Morgan replied. 

Inca could have sworn that the light glinted off of Morgan’s spectacles in that moment. Dear Porunga, though. That sort of thing wasn’t possible, was it? Although, given the powerful people that seemed to dot the earth like flowers in a field, maybe it wasn’t so outrageous. Either way, Piccolo was surrounded by a large handful of Earthlings. More importantly, Chichi looked like she had cornered Piccolo into socializing, and wasn’t going to let him escape. No saving him from that. Relative strength or no, Chichi was not someone Inca had the slightest idea how to handle. 

So Morgan and the loud Earthling it was. 

Inca followed Morgan and Mr Satan to one of the circular tables. He watched Morgan reach into her pocket and pull out a black drawstring bag. At some point, someone put three glasses of water on the table. The loud Earthling and Morgan spoke a little, but Inca didn’t pay much attention to their conversation. Instead, he watched Piccolo. 

The taller Namekian had his arms crossed, and seemed to almost be trying to shrink. All of the Earthlings around him aside from Chichi seemed to be shrinking, too, but out of intimidation. Granted, Piccolo was nearly eight-feet tall. Even among Namekians, he was quite tall. Still, it was strange. If anything, Piccolo looked just as uncomfortable as they did. 

Dende had said that Piccolo wasn’t as rough around the edges as he used to be. Inca supposed that maybe this was what the younger Namekian was referring to. Or something like it. 

Speaking of, the Earth’s Guardian made his appearance shortly after Inca sat down. The smaller Namekian waved at Inca, but was quickly hailed by Chichi, and then assimilated into the mass of people that included Piccolo. 

At that point, Inca turned back to the other two people at his table. The drawstring bag was now a circle of dark fabric on the table. There were numerous lines dividing it into sections, and a spectrum of colored minerals across it. The loud Earthling was scribbling notes down into a small notepad as Morgan spoke about the placement of each mineral in relation to his question. 

It looked like nothing special, just a collection of raw minerals on fabric. But, Inca thought that he saw, more than once, a mist of something similar to ki over it. It was only when it was out of the corner of his eye that he saw it. Every time he focused his attention, that sight, or imagining, was gone. 

Inca didn’t understand at all. 

By the time Inca, Piccolo, and Morgan could extricate themselves from the party, it was already dark. Morgan had grumbled something about how this was going to mess up her schedule on the flight to Thunder Canyon. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

A month later, and Inca hit another plateau. He had finally managed to catch up to Morgan in Piccolo’s ‘catch the witch’ training, but Inca could tell that Piccolo’s patience on that had worn thin. 

Next, Piccolo occasionally invited Morgan for sparring bouts with Inca. Inca lost every time, but couldn’t ever get into the headspace. Even though Morgan always won, the smaller Namekian couldn’t help but think it was a fundamentally unfair match favoring him. And, eventually, Piccolo’s patience broke entirely. 

“Damnit, Inca,” Piccolo growled, grabbing his weighted clothing and dropping it onto the ground with an audible crash.

“The problem here is that you aren’t taking this seriously,” The taller Namekian almost spat his words.

“Morgan! Playtime is over! Inca, you watch,” Piccolo yelled.

The petite witch heaved a sigh. Shit. Fighting was not on Morgan’s list of favorite things. It didn’t matter if it was sparring or an actual scuffle. Morgan did not enjoy it, or even tolerate it well. But, Piccolo was at the end of his patience. He’d been turning darker and darker shades of purple over the last hour or so, and Morgan could here the Namekian’s aggravation like a low, rumbling thunder in the distance. And what was Morgan if not helpful and accommodating? Damn. This is what she got for being helpful. 

She didn’t even get time to get ready.

Piccolo shot forward. The distance between him and Morgan shrank. Then he bounced off of something invisible. He grunted, pushed back a few feet by the force of his attack. But, the Namekian bounced back to his feet.

Something glittered in the air, re-forming a tiny, shiny weave in the space around Morgan. She opened her mouth to say something. 

But, Piccolo was back on the offensive. A hail of ki rained towards Morgan. Dust bloomed up from the ground, obscuring the Earthling. Still, more ki flew into the area. Inca barely had time to vacate the scene before he was caught in the onslaught. Then nothing. The tall Namekian paused, as if the bout was already over. 

Had he killed Morgan? Inca wondered. 

When the dust settled, Inca could watch the very last of Piccolo’s ki drip from Morgan’s head—somehow transmuted. It poured into the ground like rain water or dew off the grass. Harmless.

Piccolo continued the offensive. Sometimes he used ki, sometimes he physically tried to reach the witch. But, every time something new repelled him further back than arm’s reach. In comparison, Morgan’s movements were slow, almost clumsy. But, it didn’t seem like she  _ had _ to move much. 

The Tall Namekian dodged something Morgan shot at him from the tip of her wand. It landed on the ground, a pool of inky darkness near a rock. He scowled, and punched at the strange force field surrounding Morgan. 

Morgan flinched back, knocked a few feet from her original position. 

Then, the inky darkness on the ground moved. A flat, paper-like hand of pure darkness shot out from the ground and grabbed Piccolo by the ankle. In the split-second Piccolo took his attention off of Morgan, that hand dragged him back nearly fifty feet, and embedded the Namekian’s leg into the ground up to the knee. Piccolo snarled, and braced himself to pull out his leg. 

“Noch’,” The witch said.

Then a bright array of light spread out, circling around her feet into a larger circle of complex symbols. Morgan curtseyed to Piccolo, and two-dozen dark, sharp objects shaped like knives fell from what seemed inside her dark skirt onto the ground below her.

“Poletet’,” Morgan said.

Piccolo’s arm, stretched to a ridiculous length, shot towards Morgan. Then, with a crunch of earth, he pulled his leg free. 

Morgan dropped her skirt. She circled her arms up, to shoulder-height. Then the dark objects on the ground shook themselves loose and hurtled at Piccolo and his extended arm faster than Inca could follow.

“Quit screwing around!” Piccolo growled.

Morgan spun her arms in a whirling motion in front of her.

Piccolo’s arm stopped stretching. It was three feet from Morgan.

The tall Namekian grunted in surprise.

The ground around Morgan’s feet seared. The array of symbols within that circle expanded outward. The closest circle to Morgan began smoking on the ground. Symbols burned into the rock.

Piccolo made a few more noises. He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

And just like that. It was over.

“Your shadow,” Morgan said.

Both Inca and Piccolo looked. Piccolo’s shadow, extended by the setting sun, was pinned to the earth at all limbs like an insect in a display by those dark knives. Piccolo made a noise. Inca couldn't tell if it was disapproval, or approval.

Piccolo’s eyes met Morgan’s.

Then the searing array around Morgan faded into nothing. Those strange blades at Piccolo’s shadow faded as well. Piccolo’s arm stretched back to its normal size. Piccolo’s face was bright purple with anger. But, the blotches of agitation on his face began to fade. 

“That’s a new one,” Piccolo said as he moved back towards Morgan at a walk.

“It’s been a few years,” Morgan said.

“I was trying to make a point,” Piccolo said.

“That’s why I took it seriously,” Morgan replied, “I’m the weakest by far. My life was actually at stake there.”

“But you used non-deadly force,” Piccolo growled back.

“It’s either that or absolute guaranteed deadly force. I don’t even think you can block your organs getting pulled out by telekinetics.” 

There was a pause. 

“And I think you forgot that I can hear intentions. I’m a god-damned witch. You were thinking super loud,” Morgan finally said.

Then a smirk pulled at Piccolo’s mouth. A difference of perspective. A difference in what was at stake. That could work. 

“You’re still screwing around in that tomb for Baba, right? How dangerous is that place for, say, a martial artist and not a witch?” Piccolo asked. 

Morgan shook her head, waving her hand dismissively in front of her face. 

“Oh, that’s a no-go! Guaranteed death, one-hundred percent! Especially if they’re not trained in handling the supernatural,” Morgan replied. 

The smirk widened. 

“Guess where you’re going, Inca?” Piccolo asked. 


	5. Did You Put Your Blood on Me?

“Welcome,” Morgan extended one hand towards a giant maw carved into the sheer cave wall, “to the Tomb of the Stillborn King!”

If Inca thought he was physically capable of frowning more, he would have. The carvings about a monstrous gash of a stone mouth all portrayed torture or ritualistic sacrifice in a full spectrum of variety--all of them just as awful as the previous images. It was horribly dark, even worse than the night. The air was stagnant and ripe with mildew and moisture. The force of evil from further within was so strong it was almost like a physical force pushing against the Namekian. It was like some forbidding wind.

They were several hundred feet underground already--in a cave hidden from the world in a maze of craggy fissures in the earth. It wasn’t exactly Inca’s idea of a pleasant, sunny field trip. But, really, what had he expected?

Inca looked back down at Morgan, and then back to the entrance. The stone mouth, full of its twisted, pointed teeth all painted with some dark, rusty substance in symbols, dwarfed the tall Namekian. Morgan might have stood high enough to reach the smaller teeth.

The witch brushed off the hem of her dark clothing and went through a few simple stretches.

“Is it going to be this dark the entire way?”

“Actually, it will get darker,” Morgan answered.

She then tapped the tip of her wand onto one of the stone teeth several times, and muttered something in a language Inca could not understand.

A sphere of light seemed to puff out of the stone, giving off cold, green illumination. It floated into the air, setting into a space just above Inca’s head. Two more lights popped out of the stone, and moved into a similar position between the witch and the warrior.

“You should stay close to me. And I would advise against touching anything. The entire place is riddled with traps, and I'd have to be quite arrogant to think I have disarmed all of them,” Morgan said.

The tall Nemakian made a short noise. This was the exact opposite of what he came to Earth for. It made him itch. Was his progress really so poor that--no there was no point in over-thinking this. Every time Piccolo saw what Inca was now positive was his ‘over-thinking face’ he shouted ‘dodge’ before punching him in the face. At this point is was nearly a reflex to move once Inca caught himself sinking into that bad habit.

Morgan inclined her head to the side, and seemed to think about saying something. But, in the end, she decided against it. Instead, she walked into the tomb’s mouth ahead of Inca.

After all, it had nothing to do with her.

It wasn’t about her.

It wasn’t even about Inca’s relationship with Piccolo.

It was all Inca’s relationship with Inca.

Morgan knew that.

Piccolo, probably, also did.

So that left Inca the odd man out regarding his own psychoanalysis. And just what Piccolo thought would happen in that Tomb that would help the scenario, Morgan couldn’t begin to guess. A sense of urgency was already present. Or, maybe, Piccolo just wanted Inca to take Morgan seriously. How funny would that be: Piccolo doing exactly what he said he was doing? He was beginning to resemble Kami more and more by the day.

Still. Dark and foreboding as this place was, it was no New Moon Cave, Morgan thought.

The witch and the warrior had walked down several staircases before Inca spoke again.

“What is this place?” the Namekian asked.

His voice echoed back and forth across the cold stone. He lowered his voice after the first word, surprised at how loud he sounded.

“A fancy grave, more our less,” Morgan replied.

“A long time ago, there was a witch who cheated death so many times that King Yema gave up on trying to collect her. But, she had long since passed the point in time where her body could create children. But, she managed to cobble together a monstrosity, a thing that shouldn’t have been, an affront to life within her body. Unfortunately, it didn’t carry to term. Even her magic couldn’t bend reality enough for that. This is where she buried her unborn son--who she had intended to rule the planet as her puppet. Or, at least, that it how the story goes,” Morgan added.

Inca’s eyes bulged at the tale.

“And...the abomination is the reason why this place reeks of evil?” The Namekian tried to pick his words carefully.

“Well, if the story is to be believed. But, that witch had committed a different evil for every star in the sky, even if that particular story isn’t true. So it might just be because she used to live here. Or work here. Either way.”

Silence fell between the pair.

Soon, Inca found that things roamed the stone halls.

Or, rather, they rippled across the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. They were like paper-cut outs of things, with arms too long and bodies that bent and curved without bones. It was like looking at shadow projected from a low sun. They were like static, somehow, pressing in against Inca’s skull. It got louder and louder until--

Inca nearly gasped for breath. It was gone. The noise and pressure were gone.

Instead, there was just…

Morgan finished pinning something to Inca’s vest. And there was a small smear of something wet on the back of his left hand. The witch licked at a small cut on her forearm, and replaced a folding knife into her pocket. Inca watched as a small bead of something dark stained Morgan’s tongue from her arm.

“Don’t wash it off until sunrise tomorrow. And keep the charm. That should protect you, even if something tries to follow you home,” she said.

Inca peered down at his hand. It smelled like copper. No. It wouldn’t be. Could it? Was that Morgan’s blood?

The bobbing lights cast everything in the hallway in a deep green color, like the bottom of a lake looking up. Like the deepest part of the sky on New Namek.

Something twisted in Inca’s gut.

Fuck. He wanted to be home.

The things on the wall ghosted past on the walls--like they didn’t even notice Inca or Morgan anymore. But, they almost flowed around Morgan and Inca, like the witch and the warrior were stones in a river.

“Did you put your blood on me?” Inca finally asked.

“Yes,” Morgan replied.

“That’s unsanitary.”

“But, it’s very effective.”

“I’m not arguing that point.”

Morgan made a small humming noise, and kept walking.

“What, exactly, is your purpose in a place like this?” Inca broke the quiet again.

“To put it succinctly, all the giant, evil assholes that everyone’s killed that are in hell keep trying to break out. And sometimes they succeed. It’s creating a ton of work just to keep down their constant trouble in the Otherworld while everyone else worries about living enemies,” Morgan said.

“And you, or your teacher, think that there is some solution to be found here?” Inca said.

“A lot of knowledge has been lost. And it is very likely that something we don't know about the dead can be found here.”

That was something. Inca had not thought about, had not even considered the concept of Freeza causing trouble from beyond death. It seemed like, well, the end after he was finally gone. Porunga, what a pain in the ass that would be to deal with.

Inca followed Morgan around the dark tomb for what felt like hours. Several times, the small Earthling consulted a map from her pocket, or wrote a symbol on the tomb wall in chalk. Morgan took care to avoid certain areas, and Inca noted that those areas she avoided were thicker with the oppressive sense of evil than others. But, aside from that, they didn’t seem to make much progress. The witch ignored several large carvings on the walls.

But, at one point, Inca did notice Morgan pausing more often and staring at the map for longer than before.

This didn’t seem like a mission at all.

“Inca,” the witch said.

Inca turned his head.

“I’m completely lost,” Morgan admitted, “I was trying to avoid areas that might put you in the very real danger of death and...I have no idea where we are, anymore.”

Inca’s thoughts fell away.

Morgan was thinking of him?

The Namekian didn’t have much time to mull that over. He sighed and made a step towards the small Earthling.

Then the floor gave way.

Old stone crumbled and fell into a deep darkness below. There was the sound of stone on stone. Morgan, without her broom, also slipped lower and lower as time seemed to slow down. Inca grabbed onto the edge of the stone out of instinct. Morgan fell. She was out of reach. She was caught in the rubble. Then her hat flitted down after her. One of the lights fell with her, then was consumed by darkness. One light winked out of existence. And one pale green light remained hovering near Inca’s head.

A sharp intake of breath. And then Inca let go.

“Damn it!” he shouted, dropping and then kicking off the wall to speed towards the bottom of whatever hole they had just fallen into.

With a burst of ki, Inca shot towards the unknown. Then light flickered into vision. Green light. Another kick off the wall. Inca reached the witch. Then, with one arm, the Namekian grabbed the small earthling and shoved her under his arm like a football. Then, with the other hand, he sank his claws into the rock and eventually dragged himself and the witch to a stop.

“What now, Morgan?” Inca asked.

No response.

“Morgan?” he asked again.

There was the faint smell of copper again.

“Damn it.”

Inca kicked off the wall again, and flew up to the place where the floor gave way. By the light of the remaining two of Morgan’s lights, Inca lowered Morgan onto the floor and did a cursory examination. There was a bump on her head. Maybe she’d hit it against the wall while falling.

The Namekian tapped his fingers lightly against Morgan’s cheek, quickly stirring her out of whatever state she was in.

“Floor traps,” she said.

Inca breathed out a sigh. This was too much.

“How long are you going to take to take care of that damage?” Inca asked.

“I suppose the swelling should go down in a day or so, if it’s just a knock to the head.” Morgan replied.

“What?”

“I can’t exactly regenerate.”

Morgan’s words from the earlier spar with Piccolo flew back through Inca’s mind. Morgan was by far the most fragile. At that point, Morgan’s life was in danger. It was here, too, even if MOrgan was better equipped to deal with the stranger aspects of this place. The idea reached Inca that Morgan was essentially as delicate as an egg.

Time to leave.

Inca hoisted the witch under his arm like a football. She was minus the pointy black hat. But, if Morgan wanted it that badly, Inca would find a way to replace it himself. There was no way they were going back that in that hole.

“I think we should leave. You’ve taken a knock to the head, and you’re injured. I’ll take you out,” Inca said.

“Except that I’m still lost,” Morgan said.

“The correct way out is still ‘up.’ If we come across something dangerous, you just hold it off as best you can and I’ll keep us moving.”

“What about your training?”

Inca shook his head.

“Not at someone else’s expense. That’s not why I came here,” the Namekian replied.

Morgan nodded.

A handful of ki blasts later, and they were on their way out.

 

* * *

 

 

Piccolo waited on top of the tallest crags that made up the entrance to the cave, and then to the tomb. It wasn’t even midnight when he heard Inca and Morgan make their exit.

Inca, screaming as loudly as his lungs were capable of, shot out of the ground. A plume of smoke and rubble followed behind him. Morgan was under one of Inca’s arms, firing at something hot on their trail.

The creature in question was like a fat spider, but with too many limbs--all of them ending in human hands. Its body was also the size of the Son residence, deformed and covered with boils. Two-dozen hands grasped at the air as Inca, along with Morgan, zipped out of the beast’s grasp by a hair’s breadth. The monster screeched without a visible mouth.

Morgan fired a handful more spells towards the hole Inca had created. Eventually, the witch rattled off a long string of words, which seemed to coil into the air like bright, shining smoke from her mouth. Then, they shot at the creature in the form of arrows, disintegrating its body where they struck.

More screaming.

The pale light from Morgan’s spell crawled up the thing that followed them out, slowly turning the entire thing into pale dust one arm, one hand, one handful at a time. Then it was gone.

Piccolo looked at Inca in the air. The younger Namekian was covered in a sweat half from exertion and half pure terror. Morgan had lost her hat, and her glasses were smeared with dust. Her feet kicked at the air wildly and she faced backwards from Inca’s direction.

He couldn’t help it.

Piccolo laughed.

It was full and deep, and it made the Namekian’s sides hurt.

Morgan squirmed around to try to face Piccolo, and Inca seemed to have forgotten that she was there. So she continued kicking, feet in the air and facing the opposite direction.

“Yeah, laugh it up! Somebody owes me a new broom and a trip home, since mine is probably wrecked at the bottom of these fissures!” Morgan shouted, glasses now nearly opaque with dust.

 


	6. How Do You Feel About Ramen?

**Kata Six**

 

        Piccolo laughed until his sides ached. Morgan squirmed around under Inca’s arm the entire time, shouting about her hat. Inca felt like collapsing as soon as that monster chasing them was gone. He floated to the crag Piccolo stood on, still hauling Morgan like a sack of potatoes. Once the taller Namekian regained some composure, he still grinned at the other two people present.

        “That was the fastest I’ve ever seen you move. If you flew like that before, we wouldn’t have had to waste so much time,” Piccolo said.

        Still splotchy and sweaty from the escape, Inca managed to turn a slight shade of purple.

        “Team fighting seems to be good for your progress. I’ll make arrangements with the old hag so you two can do patrol work together,” Piccolo finished before floating off the rocky ground.

        Morgan paused--glaring after Piccolo as the Namekian flew into the night. Then, floppy and nearly limp, she continued scowling.

        “Inca, take me home,” she said.

        There was anger in her tone.

        Inca hadn’t expected that.

        “Of course. That guy is the only anti-social Namekian I’ve ever heard of. Of course you’d do better with someone else. It’s only natural. Why didn’t I realize it before?” Morgan hissed.

        Inca shook his head and lifted once more into the air.

        “You expected to just _know_ that? Before _Piccolo_?” Inca asked.

        “I’m a witch. It’s our business to be into everyone else’s business,” the small woman replied.

        Even so. Morgan had picked up on the reasoning before Inca. The green alien found himself feeling a strange something. It was almost like he was impressed.

        He had even gotten praised by Piccolo.

        So maybe there was something to this idea.

 

* * *

 

 

        Two figures cut through the sky, headed towards a forest un-inhabited by people.  Smoke and dust belched into the horizon before them. The Capsule Corp ear-bud and microphone headset on Morgan’s head blinked green. There was a tiny camera built into the set as well--a new prototype of Bulma’s.

        “Target is twenty kilometers ahead. Four small spacecraft,” Piccolo’s gruff voice came over the headset. From the awkward stutters, Morgan imagined that tall, green, and grumpy felt more than a little stupid speaking into a microphone. He was probably holding it just between two fingers or something, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Hah. Shit. What she wouldn’t pay to be a fly on that wall right now.

Heh. Morgan dodged a fleeing bird, holding onto her new hat with one gloved hand.

        “Copy that, Blue Leader. We have visual confirmation,” Morgan said. Piccolo paused before continuing—almost as if he was shocked that someone else was playing along with the military lingo.

        “Any further information?”

        “Yes, sensei. I sense four life-forms. Judging from their movements, there might be a fight among them,” Inca said through his own microphone.

        “Hey. He’s Blue Leader when we’re working,” Morgan said, adjusting the goggles over her eyes. Inca paused.

        “Is that so? Why blue?” Inca asked.

“Well, in human history, this region was close to Japan--which had a culture of calling many green things like forests or apples bl--”

        “It doesn’t matter!” Piccolo shouted, cutting the witch off. Morgan laughed.

        “Alright, alright. Preparing for initial descent. I’ll stop screwing around, now,” Morgan said.

        The final descent took Inca and Morgan into a forest untouched by humanity for at least a hundred years. Trees stretched to the sky, blocking out enough sun to give the entire area and earthy haze. Moss and other short plants created a dark ground cover. Inca planted his feet on the ground. Shortly after, Morgan flew low enough to the ground to dismount her broom. After the witch touched down, she slung the broom over her shoulder and tapped at her goggles. With a small glow, the heavy flying goggles transformed back into Morgan’s glasses. She opened her mouth to ask Inca a question, but got cut off when a large body flew past her—destroying several large trees as it smashed through them. Inca pressed himself against a solid cedar tree, almost camouflaged against the dark green underbrush, moss, and shadow.

        Three neon-colored humanoids in uniform body armor stepped into view. All three were taller and broader than a full-grown human man, sporting spikes or other strange outgrowths on their heads. The one in front was a bright orange, the one on the right flank pale green, and the one on the left flank a dark red. Morgan was reminded of fruit, and found herself craving a snack. Mentally, she named them ‘Orange, Dragonfruit, and Rambutan.’

        “Looks like leftovers from Frieza’s troops,” Piccolo said over the microphone. Piccolo detailed a few lines of instructions into the microphone for both Morgan and Inca. Inca found himself thankful his ear-bud was actually pinned onto his shirt. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to handle the volume. Still, the warrior worried about the instructions being overheard.

        “Noted,” Morgan replied. The design of the armor and the equipment over the unfamiliar alien's’ eyes and ears looked familiar. She must have seen it in a briefing.

        None of the armored men seemed to take any notice of anything the witch said. But, one did take note of the black-clad woman. The orange alien in front grinned and give Morgan a quick look before shouting.

        “Look, Choi, an earthling! How about we kill this one first, and then finish you off after you watch? So much for protecting this planet. I’m really going to enjoy this,” Orange laughed, facing the figure that had just gone through a half-dozen trees. Then Orange turned to move in Morgan’s direction.

        “Shit,” A tall man, human-looking, in the same make of armor with black hair sat up from tree rubble. Tree limbs fell onto his head and shoulders. Pieces of his broken scouter lense stuck out of his eyebrow. Cedar needles and broken pieces of bark jutted out of his wild mane of shoulder-length, spiked hair.

        He bit his lip. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else nearby. Now someone else was going to get caught up in this mess. Killed. The black-haired man peered at the earthling through the scouter. No ki to speak of, and tiny. But, that dark hair and those wide, dark eyes were almost too familiar. Skin color, too.

        For one evaporating second, Choi almost thought he was seeing someone of his own kind.

        But, then he remembered.

        His heart sank with the speed of a stone.

        “Get the hell out of here! I’ll hold them off! Just get to somewhere safe,” Choi yelled at the small earthling in black, but was interrupted when Dragonfruit sent a hail of ki blasts where Choi just sat up, laughing.

        “You’re not saving anyone, you traitor. We may be the last, but we numbered amongst Dodoria’s Elite and you were trash to start with,” Dragonfruit said.

        Orange reached out a large hand for the small witch. He wondered just how long he could hold off before he killed the earthling. Maybe he should hold back a little for the sake of making Choi suffer. But to the orange alien’s surprise, he pulled back his hand with a yelp as something burned it.

        Morgan, large hat and all, cocked her head to the side and presented a polite smile.

        Choi coughed as the smoke and cloud of splinters around him settled.

        “Who the _hell_ is _Debra_?” Morgan put her free hand on her hip.

        No. The earthling had just signed her own death warrant.

        “Lord Dodor—” Rambutan began.

        “—Lord Debra?” Morgan cut him off.

_No! Don’t mock them!_ Choi internally screamed. _Just run!_

        “Dodo—”

        “Debra?” A bright flash of light reflected off of Morgan’s glasses as all three of the mentally-named Fruit Salad Gang sent ki blasts at the witch. With an explosive burst, Choi rushed to interpose his body between the earthling’s and the attacks. He could weather those three blasts at least. If it was the last thing he did, he could at least try his best to protect one of the people living here. Eyes closed, he waited for the impact, but it didn’t come.

        Instead of reducing him to dust, all three ki blasts curved upwards and then behind him—feeding into the ornate wand the small earthling held in her hand. And that ki flowed like water from a drain. At the tip of the wand, a bright purple disk spun. All three of Frieza’s troops watched, apparently unable to come up with an explanation for what they saw. The little earthling with the big, silly hat smiled. Light flashed from her glasses again.

Another explosion caught the four brawler’s attention—revealing the smoldering remains of their space pods and a smirking, tall Namekian. Three pairs of eyes focused on their scouter screens, watching as no numbers even registered. Morgan made a small noise of disapproval, the remains of the attacking blasts falling apart billowing around her like glowing leaves or flower petals stirred by a breeze.

        “Lesson One,” Morgan began, stepping around Choi, “Classic Misdirection is _classic_ for a reason.”

        Choi nearly jumped, and tried once to put his arm between the little earthling and the other three warriors. But, she side-stepped out of his path with heeled black boots, and adjusted her glasses. Her grin was small, and didn’t look cruel. But, nevertheless, Choi felt a chill run down his spine.

        The air vibrated as the earthling began speaking, voice low and echoing. The incantation complete, Morgan angled her wand in their direction. Shadows around her seemed to grow darker, deeper.

        The last of Dodoria’s Elite all screamed as the text melted off of their scouter screens, replaced by the images of shadowy, three-eyed crows. Bright smoke swirled around them, not muffling the panicked shouting. Then, it all stopped, and the smoke cleared onto the ground. All that remained were three sets of armor, three scouters, and three brightly colored, confused lizards. One of them licked its eye. Another moved to chase after a beetle. The last nosed under some underbrush.

        “Lesson Two: Scouters are useless,” the earthling said.

        “I’m not certain sensei is going to be happy with this,” the Namekian muttered, taking long steps towards the little earth female.

        “I don’t care for violence. I don’t like killing,” She replied, still keeping the wand out and in-hand.

        Choi swallowed. It almost felt like the earthling was saying that specifically so that he’d hear it. Just what was he dealing with now? Scouters were…useless.

        “You turned them into lizards,” the Namekian said.

        “And they can live out their natural lizard lives in the forest,” the earthling said again, grinning.

        “That’s still pretty bad,” the Namekian said.

        “Your sensei isn’t my boss, and Baba doesn’t care,” the earthling shot back.

And then they both turned.

        Choi got shivers when both the little earthling and the Namekian turned their eyes to him. And it wasn’t the warrior Namekian that bothered him the most--it was that tiny earth woman. It was strange—being intimidated out of his mind by someone barely half his size. And it felt like her dark eyes somehow looked _through_ him. But, she eventually shrugged and turned away from Choi.

        “Blue Leader and Black Leader, All enemies—” she said into her microphone

        “—Turned into lizards,” Inca interrupted into his own.

        “—Neutralized!” She verbally bulldozed over Inca, adjusting her glasses again, “One injured non-lizard remaining with no malicious intent.”

        Morgan listened to something over the earpiece.

        “Oh. Yeah. I can do that,” she said, and then turned to Choi once more.

        Both the earthling and Namekian winced as another voice shouted over the communication line. The little earthling took something out of her ear and held it as far as she could away from her ears. At the same time, the Namekian grabbed something off of his vest and crushed it in his hand.

        Choi heard a violent shout from the earpiece.

        “You will bring him to me this _instant_!”

        Still holding the microphone at arm’s length, the earthling with the giant hat replied.

        “No can-do! We’ll bring him to the lookout. I’m not going to bring someone I don’t know into a city,” she said.

        A slurry of obscenities followed. Then the line went silent.

        Again, the small earthling turned her eerie dark eyes on Choi.

        “How do you feel about ramen?” she asked.

 

 


	7. Mr. Son's Example

Inca and Morgan escorted the unfamiliar alien, Choi, to Dende’s lookout. Morgan threatened to turn Choi into a newt if he did not comply peacefully. She adjusted her glasses and informed Choi that she’d just put him in a jar and take him there, regardless of his wishes. Choi wasn't one hundred percent sure what a ‘newt’ was. But he was more than a hundred percent sure Morgan could, and would, follow through with that threat if he gave her any reason to. Inca said little, dark eyes keeping a constant watch as he followed Morgan and Choi from a short distance.

The Saiyan didn’t make any attempt to escape his escort. Instead, he touched down on the white tiles of the lookout just after Morgan. Inca landed a few seconds later.

Choi could almost feel the Namekian’s gaze on the back of his head. He shuffled forward, peering around the ‘lookout’. There were three pale buildings on one end—what was this? They were standing on a giant circular platform that just sat in the sky on top of a column so thin it was impossible that it supported the entire thing. The small earthling said something and then zipped off towards the middle building.

Riding on a primitive cleaning tool.

Choi wasn’t going to say anything. If he knew one thing about powerful people it was that they didn’t appreciate being questioned by the rank and file—much less low class fodder like Choi. As far as he could tell, the earthling and Namekian were going to keep him at this place until someone else decided what would happen to him.

It was more than he expected.

By the time Choi and the tall Namekian walked to the middle building, a squat, dark creature was arranging plates on a large table. The earthling and a smaller Namekian were off to the side, discussing something.

“And then he just started  _ screaming  _ so I turned the mic off,” the small earthling complained, leaning against a white pillar.

“That sounds about right. I expect that he will arrive shortly,” the smaller Namekian sighed.

“Is your idea to minimize the destruction by keeping His Royal Complex occupied with food?” The earthling asked.

“Yes.”

“Wow you have really figured all of this shit out,” the earthling replied.

Choi heard the conversation continue. Even though it was about him, the Saiyan couldn’t help but tuning it out. The smiling creature with a wrapped turban around his head kept putting plates and bowls laden with  _ food _ out on the long table. There were all kinds of meats, and not burned to a near crisp like Choi made for himself over a campfire. And they just kept piling up one after another. 

At least if Choi was going to die, it looked like he’d at least be able to die with the memory of this beautiful image seared into his mind. 

“Go ahead and please eat. We’re waiting for someone else to arrive,” the shorter Namekian said before turning back to speak with the earthling and the tall Namekian. 

Choi didn’t bother looking up from the table until a ki more powerful than any he had ever felt washed over the lookout like an angry wave. It knocked the large hat right off of the small earthling’s head. 

“ _ Morgan! _ ” The rage-filled scream was somehow familiar.

In that moment, a sunrise may as well have backlit Vegeta as he stormed into the building. Angels were god damn singing on high as the Prince of All Saiyans entered--the shining hope that Choi didn't know existed. Suddenly, it all made sense. The food was clearly for Vegeta--as such a spread could only be meant for royalty. Thank every dead and living god that Choi hadn't presumed to actually eat. Someone like him? Eat at the same table as the prince?

Clearly the earthlings and Namekians were woefully ignorant of proper behavior. Choi attempted to pick his jaw off the floor and rushed himself into a half-semblance of a bow--nearly upending the table in the process.

“P-Prince Vegeta! You rule this planet?!” Choi stammered.

The Prince of All Saiyans snapped his gaze to the side, indignation forgotten for the moment. Vegeta paused, and then a smirk full of white teeth slashed across his mouth. 

“Yes. That  _ would _ be the reasonable assumption, wouldn’t it? Not  _ quite _ as such. But, I have made quite the comfortable home for myself here, and I don’t take kindly to Freeza’s leftovers messing up the place,” Vegeta said. 

In the end, Vegeta seemed to forget about Morgan hanging up on him when provided with the opportunity to have Choi’s rapt attention while reporting the events of the last several decades. That, and Mr. Popo kept the table filled with food. 

Morgan took her hat off the floor, then brushed at the brim with her hand. 

“You were right,” she said to Dende. 

Then she brushed off the hem of her dress. 

“Are you not staying for the meal?” Dende asked. 

“I’d prefer to take a bath and have something light later, if I may. Besides, I’d probably lose a hand if I tried to eat now,” Morgan replied. 

“Do you remember where it is?” Dende asked. 

“Yes, thank you,” the witch said, and then walked out of the main hall.

Inca blew a short breath out of his nose.

Dende and Inca stood in silence as both watched Vegeta make his way through Mr. Popo’s cooking like a horde of locusts. It was a good thing that Mr. Popo occasionally enjoyed cooking in large quantities. No one else could have handled this--aside from Chichi Son. Choi’s attention remained rapt, and completely focused on Vegeta’s word. The taller Saiyan remained standing, giving Vegeta the kind of attention he hadn't received since his early youth. 

Dende wasn't sure what to make of it. And the sight of anyone giving Vegeta such a bootlicking made Inca’s stomach turn in disgust. So Inca ended up turning away. 

“Has Morgan done something to irritate you?” Dende asked. 

Inca bristled, and folded his arms across his chest. 

“I find...Morgan difficult to understand,” Inca admitted. 

The tall Namekian sighed. Dende was much easier to speak to than Piccolo. Something about Dende put Inca at ease, more so than when they had both been on New Namek last. 

“There is not anything on New Namek, or even Old Namek, that is similar. And the concept of ‘gender’ is maddening. I do not understand how Piccolo can remember all of it,” Inca said. 

Dende nodded with patient understanding.

“Yes. It would be simpler if earthlings did not vary so much in appearance as they do. Even across the same age, their differences are quite extreme compared to what we are used to,” Dende agreed. 

There was a pause as Inca waited to hear more. 

“Ah. For example, did you know that Morgan and Gohan were born very close to each other in time? They are not even one year apart in age,” Dende said. 

Inca’s eyes looked like they were about to bulge out of his head. 

“My understanding is that Morgan, Chichi and Bulma are of the same ‘type’ of gender--and are naturally smaller and slighter in general than Goku and Gohan. What continues to confuse me is Morgan’s people. They call themselves ‘witches,’ and seem to have a separate culture from the rest of earth’s population. Although, it seems that Morgan is smaller than the average,” 

“How unnecessarily complicated,” Inca grumbled. 

Part of Inca wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Dende about his conflicting feelings about eating meals prepared by Morgan. There were equal parts gratitude towards Morgan and frustration at his own condition, yes. But, there was also something new after the little excursion into the Tomb of the Stillborn King. 

Inca was the warrior. He was the elder between the two. He was supposed to be the protector of the younger ones and the Dragon Clan members--which was the closest thing he could peg Morgan to. But, Morgan was the one considering Inca’s safety and well-being when all Inca could focus on was his own disatisfaction. It would have been similar to if Dende and Inca’s roles had suddenly switched. Only, Dende would have to be smaller.

The fact that such a situation had gone on for so long without Inca realizing it made the Namekian only feel worse. Even if Morgan was an adult, it wasn’t right. Inca was still supposed to be--he was supposed to be the one protecting. He was supposed to be the one watching out for others. 

The whole thing made Inca restless. 

And just when Inca started mentally comparing Morgan to the gentle and wise Elder Moori, the earth-witch decided to do something absurd like bathe for an hour or nap after eating. Or Morgan told Piccolo an awful Earth ‘word play joke’ that only made Piccolo yell at her to leave. 

What business did a tiny, goofy earthling like that have with looking out for Inca? With taking time out of what Inca now knew was important earth-witch training for Inca’s sake? With showing patience while Inca treated Morgan like a child? 

Shame burned hot across Inca’s cheeks. 

He should be better. 

Somehow, Dende gave the impression of understanding even though Inca never said any of it. The warrior just let it boil inside himself. 

“I have heard that the ‘witches’ are difficult. Not just for our kind, but for other earthlings. So do not put undue pressure on yourself to understand in a short amount of time,” Dende offered. 

That soothed Inca’s embarrassment enough for the warrior to nod. 

“The witches are a menace,” Vegeta said, but he said it without the spite that would have shown he was serious. 

“I thought you wanted credit with allying with the witches?” Dende asked. 

“Being useful does not mean they can’t be a menace,” Vegeta said in between tearing a mouthful of meat off a chicken leg and chewing. 

When asked, Vegeta declined to clarify on the subject of witches being a menace. 

By the time both Choi and Vegeta were finished eating, Morgan returned from her bath. Somehow, she had managed to find a change of clothes as well. It was a variant on the same all-black clothing she wore--a jacket, ankle-high boots, stockings and a robe fitted to the torso. Was it called a ‘dress,’ Inca wondered? 

Morgan stared at the mountains of empty dishes piled up on the table. Then she took off her glasses, breathed on the glass, cleaned it with a handkerchief, and replaced them on her face. Vegeta folded his arms over his chest, then crossed his ankles on the table as he leaned back in his chair. The witch frowned in disapproval. 

“As I thought, this is one of my subjects: Choi. He was sent off planet as an infant, much like Kakarot. He will be staying on this planet from now on. So I expect that you sorry lot will make sure he understands the ridiculous culture on this rock. Choi, this is Morgan--a meddling--,” Vegeta said. 

“Shouldn’t teaching him all that be your job as his ‘leader?’” Morgan asked. 

“You know very well that I am a very busy man, with a number of--” Vegeta began.

“You are so full of shit. I watch your kid six times a year, and you’re never doing anything. Are you just dumping him on me? I’m not even human,” Morgan cut Vegeta off. 

Vegeta’s ki flared. Morgan could almost hear his teeth grinding. 

“Shut up! I can’t interrupt my training schedule and my son’s to babysit someone of such a low level!” Vegeta shouted. 

“At least get him a cell phone. Someone has to answer any questions he’d have. At least someone of the same species--” Morgan shot back, and then paused before saying, “Unless you’d rather he follow Mr. Son’s example and advice.” 

Vegeta made a noise like he was thinking about choking on his own tongue. It was true he couldn’t trust Kakarot to answer any questions a Saiyan might have regarding Earth. Kakarot was practically an earthling. And if the only available options were himself or Kakarot, Vegeta would just have to make the time. He couldn’t have another idiot of that caliber wandering around. 

Inca watched the exchange between Morgan and Vegeta and found himself strangely fond of Morgan in that moment. Maybe Dende believed that Vegeta was not the same monster who had destroyed a village of their people for no reason. But, Inca wasn’t so trusting. Anyone who could make the Saiyan grind his teeth that way, and get away with scolding him in public, was very close to being a fine person in Inca’s opinion on that merit alone. 

Maybe this was why Piccolo seemed to tolerate Morgan’s cheeky attitude. She would turn on other people at the drop of a hat. Inca figured that Piccolo was the type to enjoy Morgan’s sass when it was directed at someone else. 

When Inca turned to look at Dende, the younger Namekian was barely managing to stop from grinning and laughing. Dende was biting his lower lip to stop from letting a chuckle out. 

It wasn’t long before Vegeta left the lookout. Once the Prince of All Saiyans was out of earshot, Dende let out a breath and started laughing. 

Morgan pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, a grim frown on her lips. If she were physically capable of frowning with more disapproval in that moment, she would have.

“How do you manage to say that sort of thing to Vegeta without consequence?” Inca had asked the question before he had even thought about it.

The petite earthling shrugged. 

“Apparently he’s incredibly superstitious, and scared of magic? He won’t be in the same ten mile radius of Baba if he can help it. Something about ‘prophecy’ biting him in the ass too many times” Morgan ventured, wiggling her fingers as she said ‘prophecy.’ 

“I have heard that you strike terror into the hearts of many of the trouble-makers in the afterlife,” Dende said, regaining his composure. 

“If those dead assholes don’t know who’s the boss around Hell, then I’m not doing my job,” Morgan replied, examining her nails. 

“Anyway, I need to go shopping before heading back to the canyon. This loaner broom could give out on me any minute, and I need to stock up on some things anyway. Can you show the new guy to where we’re going when you head out?” Morgan asked. 

Inca nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure how ‘owing’ Morgan a new broom was going to work out. The warrior would probably have to pay the witch back in favors in the future, since he had no ‘currency’ to give her. It was also strange hearing her argue with Vegeta for this new Saiyan’s sake. Morgan didn’t even know him. They had literally met earlier that day. The warrior thought about cautioning Morgan against trusting people so easily. But, maybe she had information, somehow, that Inca didn’t know. Magic, or something of the same nature. 

At the same time, did Inca really have room to scold Morgan? 

Morgan walked out of the room. Then Dende called after her, “Morgan! When was the last time you ate?” 

The witch paused mid-stride. She looked up towards the clouds, and she thought. Morgan thought  _ really _ hard about question. Breakfast? No. No, that had just been tea--because that mission came up before Morgan could even have yogurt. So the last time must have been the previous night. Yogurt cups and scones, then. Morgan swiveled on one foot and marched right back to the doorway she had just left. 

“Last night,” she replied. 

Dende frowned and opened his mouth.

“No. Absolutely not. I already get it from Mrs. Son and  _ Piccolo _ of all people. I’ll just, just stay and eat something if that’s alright,” Morgan said. 

Dende considered chiding Morgan anyway. Maybe he would. He probably would. 

Morgan put her broom against the wall after walking back inside. Choi peered out from behind a pile of dishes--where he had apparently been trying to hide from Morgan’s attention. But, the dishes weren’t enough. 

Mr. Popo picked up a stack of dishes in each hand. That left Choi utterly exposed to the bespectacled Earthling. Then a growl from Choi’s stomach rumbled with enough volume to echo through the building. Morgan stared. 

“Didn’t you eat?” Morgan asked. 

Choi flinched and said, “I-I would not eat at the same table and the same fare as someone such as the Prince!” 

Morgan turned her gaze back towards Inca and Dende with an expression displaying her utter confusion. Are you fucking serious, the arch of her eyebrows asked? 

“Shall I bring out more?” Mr. Popo asked, another double-stack of dishes swaying dangerously in his hands. 

“Yes, if you would be so kind. Something for the rest of us lowlifes,” Morgan oozed into a seat across Choi. 

The remaining Saiyan remained standing, stomach protesting. He looked from the table to Morgan, then back again. Prince Vegeta had cautioned Choi that Earth Women were far more capable and dangerous than they would seem upon first glance. He had also told Choi about the ‘witches’ and how they had strange powers over the supernatural and the dead. 

Freeza and most of his army denied the existence of such things. But, Choi knew better. He didn’t have to take anyone’s word for it. He had seen magic with his own eyes. Prince Vegeta even told him that Morgan was being taught by an elder witch who might be able to know prophesies. That wasn’t someone that Choi could share a meal with, either. While she wasn’t the Prince, Morgan was far above Choi’s station. 

“Please just sit down. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m just a humble apprentice,” Morgan groaned.

Choi's eyes narrowed. That sounded fake, but alright. He wasn't going to fight about it. Morgan would thrash him either way, and he was half starving by this point. 

Dende shot Morgan a side-long glance. She narrowed her eyes and returned it. 

The Earth’s guardian didn’t approve of Morgan’s, in his opinion, gratuitous use of ‘light mind-reading.’ While dealing with the newcomer was a bit of a frustration, this was still a bit much. Still. Maybe that tidbit of information would make things easier. Dende approached Choi, and the Saiyan nearly jumped out of the seat he had just planted himself in. The very tip of Choi’s tail whisked against the floor in small, agitated movements. 

“May I look at your wounds?” Dende asked. 

Choi hesitated, but nodded. 

Dende carefully eased a piece of scouter out of Choi’s brow before healing the cut. 

Still. If someone like Morgan and the tall Namekian could be delegated tasks by Prince Vegeta, it meant the prince had definitely risen to unbelievable levels of power. That gave him some measure of comfort. 

When Dende had finished, Choi pressed the tips of his fingers against the healed flesh of his upper face with disbelief. Mere minutes after, the dark man named ‘Mr. Popo’ placed several giant bowls on the table and then took the rest of the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. 

Choi gulped, already salivating from the smell alone. Hot steam poured off each bowl of rich, orange-colored liquid. There were various vegetables and some sort of meat inside, cut into thin slices. And then there were long, thin pale things peaking out from the liquid. He looked across the table, watching Morgan take two pieces of wood tapered at one end and then eat with them. It took some working for the Saiyan to imitate Morgan. 

The first time, several of the wet, slippery pale things fell back into the bowl. When Choi managed to shove something in his mouth, he paused. Salty. Warm. There was the flavor of meat--but better than anything Choi had managed to cobble together. Other flavors, too. Fat was slippery on his lips, and something made his mouth burn in an alien manner. But, it wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, Choi  _ liked _ it. 

Tastes came one after another, milling together. He shoved another mouthful into his face, marveling at the softness of the pale things. Even as Choi concentrated on trying each new thing, he did notice as hot tears spilled out of his eyes. All of it, in one bowl, was just too much. It was more than he’d ever had.  
  
Mr. Popo continued to bring out a series of new foods. At some point, Dende even pulled up a seat. Choi internally berated himself for crying, but the tears came anew every time he tasted something new and delicious. Across the table, Morgan remained silent.  



End file.
